Burn, Witch, Burn
by Myrtle Venom
Summary: There are various reasons as to why a witch ends up burning at the stake. The Supreme's inevitable death, caused by her own lover's axe, is one of them - Myrtle Snow is suffering from the sudden change happening to the coven. Will she be willing to say goodbye in the end?
1. Someone's Gotta Kill This Creep

**/ _Another fanfiction for the tragedy between Myrtle Snow and Fiona Goode. This one is going to have more chapters and it is not going to be lemon-y for a change. Please enjoy, leave (constructive) feedback, if you please._ /**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

" _You're all a bunch of little toads in a pot_  
 _that Fiona is slowly bringing to a boil._  
 _You won't even feel it until it's too late._  
 _I'd rather burn than boil._ "  
\- Myrtle Snow

* * *

 _Chapter I_ : **Someone's Gotta Kill This Creep**

* * *

„ _This blood is my mother's_."

A sharp, stinging feeling shot through the witch's stiff body at the terrifying revelation that was the news of the Supreme's death. Murdered by her very own lover – or rather her easily manipulable puppet. The man who was right there in front of all their eyes, covered in Fiona Goode's blood.

Myrtle Snow had already feared such. However, despite any agony paining her, despite that numb feeling spreading all across her torso and limbs upon learning of her greatest enemy's passing, she stood still and did not dare to show any reaction. Not any reaction that could give away how it _truthfully_ ached within the redhead's chest.

"Holy shit … so she's _really_ gone?" Zoe's voice seemed to return the oldest of the coven's witches into reality, or at least assist her in shaking off the numb feeling for a little while longer.

"Does anyone feel any different?" What else would the pseudo Hollywood starlet Madison Montgomery be on about, if not a possible answer to the question of _who_ would become the next Supreme, now that the old one was dead.

Dead. The thought still had not quite settled yet.

Clearing her throat, Myrtle eventually attempted to speak again, form a simple, yet so very difficult question. Perhaps, and the flame-haired woman was sincerely hoping for it, perhaps there was still a chance.

"Where's the body?"

"In the swamps. He fed her to the alligators." While getting up from the floor where Cordelia was previously sat to _see_ what had happened, what the Axeman had done to her mother, the headmistress responded to Myrtle's question a little breathlessly. Her expression displayed nothing but disbelief, and perhaps deep down, Cordelia felt something comparable to what a person usually felt in a case of bereavement.

For a brief moment, Myrtle Snow felt her heart shatter yet again into even more tiny pieces. She felt any possible chance of saving the dead Supreme crumble slowly.

"Jesus", Zoe commented on how the Axeman had apparently proceeded with the corpse of Fiona Goode after having brutally murdered her. With his axe.

"That's it then; even I can't bring somebody back once they're gator shit."

Misty Day's words rang in the ginger witch's ears for longer than necessary. _That was it_. Even the witch the power of resurgence was incapable of doing something, incapable of bringing Fiona back to life, incapable of saving Myrtle Snow's heart from breaking. Who would want the Supreme to be revived anyways, besides the redhead? Not even Cordelia would want her own mother to return and cause more havoc among the coven.

Perhaps, it was for the best, after all.

"Okay … so who wants to do this? Somebody's gotta kill this creep." Once more, Myrtle was stripped off of her thoughts, this time by Queenie. This time, the topic was the man who had committed so many crimes in his lifetime – both the first and the second. As it seemed, this very man was destined to die a cruel death yet again. He had to suffer for what he had done to Fiona, Myrtle thought. However, the redhead wouldn't be Myrtle Snow if she did not disagree with anyone's crude and savage behaviour.

Ever since, the lover of tartan patterns had been a woman of words rather than action. It said actions spoke louder than words, and yet, Myrtle disagreed. In her eyes, a sophisticated and classy witch would solve a problem maturely, without smashing another against a wall by magic or slapping them or even stabbing them to death.

"Oh bloody-blood-blood, all day in this place, is that really necessary?" There it was, Myrtle's sorry attempt at calming down the young witches' nerves, attempting to keep them from performing any more criminal actions.

There was something else deep inside the redheaded witch – the wish to see this man beg for forgiveness, beg for mercy – the wish to see his blood spill and mix with that of his former lover. Maybe, even Myrtle Snow was not free of sin and _did_ have a secret desire to take action in the most savage ways. Had she not done just that in order to restore her beloved Cordelia's eyesight?

Yet, why would she wish for such a dreadful kind of vengeance for her nemesis? What was it that Myrtle was feeling deep within, next to the horrific pain that she could so finely play down?

"Yeah, he's a psycho mass murderer."

Madison's not-so-false remark was offered as a response to Myrtle's previous question – was this necessary? The second rate actress was giving the Axeman a disgusted look as she spoke, almost playfully swinging the man's bloody axe in her hands once she had picked it up from the floor. The redhead, who was stood right beside the young blonde, eyed her actions with a sceptical expression in her blue eyes, soon returning to her typical, reserved words-are-superior-to-primitive-actions attitude.

"Is there anyone here of whom that cannot be said?" Myrtle looked around once, eyeing each of the younger witches once. "This poor troubled soul has saved this coven by doing away with Fiona. And as Cervantes once said, ' _Where there is music, there can be no evil._ '", Myrtle mused eventually, as if attempting to ease the tension that was obviously lingering in the academy's hallway, among the witches of the coven and the Axeman who was, in fact, about to die.

She was also still doing her best to repress the sharp, stinging feeling that had shot through her body first when Cordelia had confirmed whose blood this murderous jazz musician was covered with.

"Cervantes never meant this asshole." It was Kyle's voice that interrupted Myrtle's thought process this time. The blue eyes followed the male's behaviour and his clear intentions through her vintage glasses intently, yet she did not dare to halt his actions, his movements forward to the pained Axeman.

Little words did Kyle speak as he grasped the musician by his collar and dragged him across the floor for a moment before hooking his arms underneath the man's upper arms in order to pull him upward. The Axeman was not yet standing properly when the next thing Myrtle heard was a determined ' _No, I'll do it_ ' from Madison, who then stepped forward with the axe tightly clasped in her palms.

The girl did not hesitate a moment to swing the axe and smash it right into Fiona's deadly lover's midsection. A painful groan escaped him as he stumbled backward into the kitchen, blood spilling from the freshly caused wound. A pool of blood was forming on the expensive parquet flooring at this time before Zoe, Queenie and Misty followed Madison into the kitchen.

"We don't need a man to protect us", said Misty as she walked past Kyle, ready to avenge so many women's deaths.

The following events revolving around the Axeman were no longer of interest to Myrtle Snow, who was remaining in the hallway together with her beloved Cordelia.

"Come here, little bird, let me soothe you", said Myrtle as she already reached out to the headmistress of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, carefully wrapping her arms around the younger woman. Both of the witches had had something taken away from them that day.

Cordelia had lost her mother. No matter how little Fiona had cared about her daughter and no matter how much Cordelia despised her own mother, a certain piece had suddenly been ripped out of the blonde's heart.

Myrtle, on the contrary, had been liberated from her most hated enemy, from the woman who had made the redhead's life a living hell over and over again, from the woman who had always been better than her and made her feel little. Although that was not everything the flame-haired witch had lost – this immense pain she felt derived from something else, something buried deep inside her chest.

 _Affection_.

An affection that Myrtle was not going to deny, at least not to herself. Not anymore. Was this affection triggered merely by this _one_ heated kiss Fiona and Myrtle had shared a while back? Or did these feelings go way back in their mutual history, their joint past?

What did it matter now, anyways? Fiona Goode was _dead_ and there was no way the most despised Supreme of all time would ever walk through the academy's doors again. Much to the distress of Myrtle Snow. Oh, her heart was broken.

"We have to find our new Supreme soon, Myrtle."

"And we are going to, my dear Delia. With or without your mother, there is nothing that stands in the way of a new Supreme rising now."


	2. You Want to Be Burnt at the Stake?

**/ _Second chapter right here - writer is in a writing fever at the moment. Our dear Myrtle is a little sad here, but you know, even a flaming fashionista can be sad sometimes. Please enjoy and as always, please feel free to leave (constructive) feedback._ /**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

" _I should have no compassion on these witches._  
 _I should burn them all._ "  
\- Martin Luther

* * *

 _Chapter II_ : **You Want to Be Burnt at the Stake?**

* * *

The coven was safe, after all. The Seven Wonders had been performed by no other than Cordelia Foxx herself, the one true successor to their previous Supreme. The loss of Madison Montgomery and Misty Day was tragic, yet this collateral damage was what was needed to secure the coven's future.

For now, it was all going well – society seemed to grow more and more accepting of the witches among them, the coven seemed to regain its strength that once was lost at the hands of Fiona Goode. More and more young women were contacting the new Supreme, Cordelia, requesting to seek refuge in Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies.

It was all going well, and yet, one Myrtle Snow found herself drawn to a rather unpopular idea.

It had been a while now since Fiona's death, and it seemed that everyone was dealing perfectly with the more or less dramatic loss. Maybe not everyone. Myrtle had been sat at the piano in the Ancestry room for hours this morning, replaying melancholic symphonies by Franz Schubert over and over. It was the redhead's way of handling the pain that she still felt. It was her way of coping with bereavement.

Only a trained eye would have recognised and understood that what Myrtle Snow was doing was an outward expression of her sadness. It was an opportunity to overthink and ponder the possibilities, the available options. Either way, her decision was made. The flame-haired witch had been reflecting on what to do since the minute she had gone to bed the night before.

Once Schubert's symphony had ended yet again, Myrtle eventually lifted her gloved fingers from the ebony and ivory keys, her shape rising from the piano bench as she silently moved across the Ancestry room. Zoe and Queenie had been listening to the depressing music the whole time, rolling their eyes in annoyance every time that the redheaded witch's fingers began to play the same song yet again. Now, they let out a sigh of relief simultaneously, their eyes on Myrtle, who made her way out the room without another word, without paying attention to the two girls just once.

Heading up the stairs with elegant movements, the former head of the Witches' Council made her way to the office that now belonged to Cordelia. Opening the door without knocking, Myrtle found her dear little bird attaching pins to a map of the United States – she smiled faintly at the sight before she finally spoke up.

"I'm so proud of you."

Cordelia turned her head to gaze over at her elder, giving her a satisfied smile. It was true, Cordelia was happy, she was proud of what the remaining witches of the coven had achieved in such a short span of time. Most certainly, the coven was on its way back to its old glory.

"We need to discuss the council. We never had young witches on the council, and Queenie and Zoe deserve an elevated role here at the school to set them apart. What do you think?" There were still matters to be spoken about, and completely oblivious as to why Myrtle Snow had really come into her office, Cordelia presented her – very plausible – idea to the woman who had always been there for her, through good times and through bad, the woman who had always backed her up and supported her. That was exactly why the new Supreme needed advice from her Aunt Myrtle, and that was what the blonde was about to get.

"I would start by telling them that being an authority figure requires you to make hard, unpopular decisions for the greater good."

It began. Myrtle Snow was now proposing her thoughts on the whole matter and nothing could change her mind. She was too heartbroken. This entire situation was too much for Myrtle – not many things ever had such an enormous effect on the redhead. This one time, she was determined.

"They've matured so much, I think they can handle it." Cordelia smiled to herself as she spoke, now fiddling with the folders on her desk.

"I was talking about you." Myrtle's expression was cold, stern, only a hint of a smile displaying the pride that the ginger held within herself. A simple way of downplaying what she truly felt, of what she mastered to repress so expertly each and every single day – Myrtle could not allow the agony of losing Fiona Goode take over, not at this very moment. She had to remain stable, firm in her ways and steady in her decision. There would be enough time to mourn and let the tears flow freely once she was on her own again.

"Me?"

"You have every chance to be the greatest Supreme this coven has ever seen-"

" _Stop_." The younger witch's voice cut off Myrtle mid-sentence. There was a hint of somewhat embarrassment, perhaps fear that this conversation was leading in a _hard, unpopular_ direction.

It was anything but easy for Myrtle Snow, but living like this was even worse. It wasn't the guilt of having murdered Pemby and Quentin that made her do what she was doing, that made her say the things she was saying. This was, technically, only an artificial yet plausible explanation for what Myrtle wanted – for what she _needed_.

" _Delia_. I have something to say. And your tasteful modesty is out of fashion, so knock it off. Thanks to you, we're entering a new era." With that, Myrtle now approached the headmistress slowly, her expression now a little more cheerful – which seemed more than ironic at this point. "You planted the seeds, but in order to reap their harvest, you have to clear the rot of the past."

"Myrtle, you know I love your metaphors, but I have no idea what you're talking about—"

" _Me_. I'm talking about _me_. We all know what happens to a witch who grievously harms another witch." The words were spoken with such ease, dryly, as if it didn't affect the redheaded woman in the first place.

"I hope you're not suggesting-"

"I'm not suggesting. I'm _insisting_."

"You _want_ to be burnt at the stake? _Again_?" There was shock written across Cordelia's face as she spoke, eventually naming what Myrtle had been on about the entire time. Was this reality? Was Cordelia's greatest supporter, her biggest help really asking to be burnt at the stake for the second time?

Myrtle had no other choice – the pain was unbearable. The Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular had tried, she had really tried to get on with her life and manage her emotions. Simply – cope.

Ever since Fiona Goode was dead, something had changed drastically for Myrtle. The satisfaction she felt whenever the two witches carried out an argument, the enchanting tension between them when they taught one another a lesson or two, the underlying charm when they fought a battle of words and who knew the more sophisticated insults – it was all gone.

Four decades of bone-deep hatred for one another were over, four decades of always being there for the other in their times of need, even in such a very twisted way, seemed to be completely worthless now.

"Want has nothing to do with it."

Everything seemed worthless to Myrtle Snow. She never expected her nemesis to ever be a part as essential as this to her life. With Fiona's passing, something deep inside Myrtle had died as well, and the pain was eating her alive. Never would she show it. She was far too sophisticated, far too reserved, and far too proud to do such – giving away anything would be way beneath her dignity.

"At the start of your glorious reign, the last thing you need is an Abscam or Watergate. I killed, and I must pay for it. Now, before word leaks and you are tainted by my hubris and actions, however deserved—"

"Myrtle. Stop talking." Cordelia shook her head lightly at the other woman's delusional words. She was becoming delusional, was she not? "I didn't hear this … I _didn't_."

Smiling reassuringly at the Supreme now, the redhead had yet to convince her to agree to her request – her _instruction_. After a moment of silence, Myrtle decided to speak up once more. She had to do this. She needed to pay for her mistakes and most importantly, she needed this unbearable agony to stop tormenting her, once and for all.

"Listen to me, child." Myrtle wanted nothing more than to know that Cordelia was doing fine, that she was happy, that she was going to be a marvellous Supreme to this coven. Her reign began with a very hard topic – Myrtle had it planned. The Guardian of Truth would be released and Cordelia would grow perfectly into her new, responsible role. It was only beneficial for them both. "Now that you're in charge, my life's work is fulfilled." There was not a hint of a lie behind Myrtle's words – her life's work _was_ fulfilled, eventually. "I've made many painful mistakes in my life. I want my death to have some meaning", she continued.

"No! No way!" Cordelia was indignant about this. How could she ever allow this to happen? How could she allow this woman to burn at the stake and leave her alone? The Supreme's lips were trembling lightly as she eyed the older woman through her chocolate brown eyes, tears slowly swelling in her dark orbs.

"You were my mother, my _true_ mother, just as you promised you would be, and I can't do this without you."

"Stiff upper lip, my dear. Everything you do or say ripples through the entire coven. You cannot be a hypocrite", Myrtle finally argued, that same reassuring smile still lingering on her nude lips, "I won't stand for it."

With that, it seemed Cordelia had given in to the flame-haired witch at last. The tears came flowing down the blonde's cheeks. Myrtle herself simply stood and watched her little bird shed tears for her. The redhead could imagine how hurtful this was going to be for the Supreme, and yet, it was for the best. For the coven – and to ease the pain.

There was a silence between the two witches now, merely the sound of quiet sobs echoing through the room. A sigh soon left Myrtle's lips.

"It's what I deserve, Delia. Don't make a fuss about it. Life goes on." On the inside, the redheaded witch was breaking apart seeing her beloved Cordelia like this. This was Myrtle's fault. However, she knew just as well that the Supreme would overcome her sadness and live life happily in the end. How could Myrtle be so sure? The truth is, she wasn't sure at all, but she was sure about one other thing – Cordelia was undoubtedly as strong as Fiona Goode. She would survive.

Without another word passing through her lips, Myrtle Snow nodded her head once in a manner as if saying her silent goodbyes already and she turned on her heels and left Cordelia's office.

Once back in her assigned bedroom, Myrtle leaned against the wooden door and closed her eyes. There was no way she could stop her own tears from falling anymore. The redhead carefully took off her glasses and put them into her coat's pocket before she slowly slid down the massive door until her behind gently landed on the parquet flooring. Pulling her legs close and wrapping her arms around her knees, she buried her face in her arms, allowing herself to cry.

Her fate was sealed.

"Fiona, you stupid bitch … Why did you have to leave me?"

Not long and Myrtle Snow would pay for her committed crimes. She would be released from her heartbreak. She would be burning for something that probably wasn't even real. What had there been between the Balenciaga lover and the former Supreme? Had there been more behind the surface of their mutual hatred? After all, there was a very fine line between hate and love. Was that it? A very twisted kind of _love_?

Myrtle Snow hardly knew answers to all these questions, but she did know one other thing – she could not live without Fiona Goode.


	3. Cat Got Your Tongue, Dear?

**/** _ **Here's finally chapter three of my little story. As always, feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. Enjoy.**_ **/**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"The sunlight claps the earth,  
and the moonbeams kiss the sea:  
what are all these kissings worth,  
if thou kiss not me?"  
_\- Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

 _Chapter III_ : **Cat Got Your Tongue, Dear?**

* * *

Just a few more hours to go – a few hours and Myrtle Snow would be burning at the stake yet again, but this time she would burn once and for all. At this very moment, the former head of the Witches' Council was sat in her bedroom on a wooden chair, facing a mirror, facing her sealed fate, her fears and her worries, facing what would soon be her release from suffering.

She looked at herself, her glasses resting on the tabletop. The image of herself that Myrtle could see was slightly blurry now that she was not wearing any assistance for her vision. Yet, the flame-haired witch could see how reddened the area in and around her blue eyes was, how glistening lines created by icy tears went from right underneath her eyes down to her chin. Myrtle had been crying for the past twenty minutes straight, being laid on her bed until she had eventually pulled herself together – and recovered her dignity, or some of it, at least.

Now staring at herself, the usually so sophisticated ginger allowed a heavy, depressed sigh to escape from her dry lips.

"It's for the best", she murmured to herself, or rather to her sorry reflection in the mirror. For sure, nobody was entitled to see Myrtle Snow in such a condition – she looked miserable. She felt miserable. No one should ever see the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular like this. Myrtle's hair was a mess (even more so than it normally was), her makeup was non-existent, she was only wearing a simple dress rather than any of her usual Haute Couture pieces, and worst of all, even a blind man would have seen the despair and depression in her aura.

"Pull yourself together, Myrt, you will be with her again soon."

Her own words brought the tears back into Myrtle's eyes. It was a wonder how there still was any salty liquid left to be produced and pushed out of her eyes at this point.

"For God's sake, you don't even know whether she feels the same", the flame-haired female hissed at herself – she felt like there were two tiny Myrtles sat on either of her shoulders. A small devil and a little angel version, yet they weren't arguing about a decision that was ought to be made. It seemed they were rather arguing about whether Myrtle's intentions were right. Whether the feelings she's had for so long now weren't misleading her.

"Oh, but she does. _Did_. The way she kissed you, that wasn't just some meaningless kiss, it couldn't have been. The way she's looked at you, there was more than just hatred and you know it, Myrtle Snow. She felt the same. Or did she?"

Closing her teary eyes, the redhead's thoughts went back to that one evening, that one particular encounter with Fiona Goode, several weeks back.

* * *

 _"_ _Fiona, don't you think you should seriously consider rehab? Your excessive alcohol consumption over the past weeks almost worries me."_

 _"_ _Myrt, would you shut your mouth and stop talking for once? Allow me to enjoy at least one thing in my last weeks as the Supreme of this coven, will you?"_

 _"_ _How can you possibly enjoy a thing when you've drunk yourself into oblivion?"_

 _"_ _The most enjoyable thing about it is that I don't have to listen to your silly rambling all the godforsaken time, darling." Once those words were spoken, Fiona Goode tilted her head to the side lightly, the flame-haired woman a good distance away from her across the room, leaning against the door frame. Fiona herself was draped on the chaise longue, her head thrown back so that Myrtle was upside down. Her hand was tumbling weakly down the piece of furniture, her fingers brushing along the parquet and up the half empty whiskey tumbler that was resting on the floor._

 _"_ _What about that boyfriend of yours, hm? Don't you enjoy him? A little birdie told me you don't even bother putting on panties anymore when you leave the house."_

 _No response came from the intoxicated Supreme. Instead, Myrtle watched the woman sitting upright in a manner more elegant than what she would suspect from someone as inebriated as Fiona Goode at this very moment._

 _"_ _What, cat got your tongue, dear?"_

 _Still no response from the blonde. The Supreme managed to get up from the chaise longue, yet she failed to miss the whiskey tumbler and knocked it over, the remaining liquid spreading in a pool of strong alcohol around the foot of the chaise. "Oh, shit", Fiona cursed under her breath, however, seemingly careless, and she lowly added, "Whatever."_

 _Myrtle did not hesitate to rush over to Fiona's side as she watched this clumsy scene, wanting to prevent her from falling over like the glass had just done._

 _"_ _I can walk, redhead", defended Fiona herself, elegantly stepping away from said redhead. The Supreme's expression was as cold as ice as she shot Myrtle a glance, her eyes glazed – it was difficult to make out whether they were glazed from the alcohol or if there was a hint of tears in those brown orbs._

 _"_ _Why do you even care, Myrt? Won't you be the first to crack open a bottle of champagne once I'm dead? Aren't you the one who wants me dead the most? So don't tell me you care or even worry about me. Besides, my love life is none of your goddamn business." Fiona was pointing her index finger at Myrtle, the tip of her finger almost touching the redhead's colourful blouse._

 _This sudden, well, Myrtle Snow would almost dare to call it an outburst of emotion, stunned the head of the Witches' Council more than she thought it would. Perhaps it had been something hidden in Fiona's voice – a hint of hurt – that surprised the ginger so much._

 _"_ _Since when are you this sentimental? What's the whiskey doing to you, dear? I was expecting some kind of harsh response or you bragging about how marvellous your lover is do-"_

 _Another thing surprised or rather stunned Myrtle far more now than Fiona's subtle expression of hurt had done. It was the Supreme's lips pressed upon her own, the blonde's left hand resting against the redheaded woman's cheek, soon moving further to her nape to pull Myrtle closer and keep her captured. It was just a brief moment that the flame-haired witch had her blue orbs widened in shock before her eyes went shut. What was happening? She did not want to give Fiona the satisfaction of giving in, yet she could not do anything against the enchanting power of the Supreme's soft, sensual lips brushing up so sweetly against her own. Myrtle gave in, her arms draping around the blonde's slim waist, leaning into her touch and returning the kiss with a passion that she never thought she inhabited._

 _Completely losing herself in Fiona Goode's touch, Myrtle parted her lips slightly and allowed her tongue to push forward, gently slip into the other woman's mouth and explore the hot insides of her usually so insolent mouth. When the redhead's tongue met Fiona's for a passionate dance, however, the old Supreme cupped both of her cheeks and pulled away from the kiss, leaving a totally flustered Myrtle Snow standing right in front of her. The ginger's arms fell back to her sides._

 _Fiona's expression was cold again, as if nothing ever happened, yet she still had the other witch's cheeks cupped. Her fingernails dug very slightly into Myrtle's pale skin._

 _"_ _I said you shall stop talking, Myrt. This was my last resort to shut you up just once. For Christ's sake, you're giving me a headache with all that bullshit you're babbling." With that being said, Fiona Goode seemed to be done. She stepped back, let go of Myrtle entirely and she shot just one quick glance back at the mess nearby the chaise longue._

 _"_ _Clean that shit up. I need some sleep."_

 _Moments later, Myrtle Snow was alone in the room. Her lips burning. Her heart racing. Lifting her right hand slowly, she allowed a gloved finger to gently graze along her own lips, as if she could manifest the taste of Fiona's deliciously tempting mouth, keep it secured and never forget._

* * *

Sniffing once, the Guardian of Truth found herself wiping her eyes before she eventually dared to look back into the mirror. This strange and yet so fulfilling encounter with her nemesis had been occupying Myrtle's mind for weeks.

"She's awoken all those damned feelings you had sworn to yourself to never allow to leak", the witch scolded herself. "You're so endlessly stupid, Myrt."

Eventually, Myrtle picked up a tissue from the table in front of herself, to dry her eyes and wipe off any visible sadness. Once she was done, she began putting on some subtle makeup for the ceremony – of course, one Myrtle Snow always had to give away as much grace as possible, even if it was in a situation as depressing as the one to come.

Her mind went back to the dead Supreme and those looks she had given Myrtle every now and then. Suggestive and almost teasing. Smirks and grins, sometimes the redhead had felt like she was being undressed by Fiona's eyes only. But what did it matter now? Fiona Goode was dead, and Myrtle was going to follow her very soon. One and a half hours from this very moment on, the redheaded witch would be tied up to the stake, ready to burn for the second and last time.

The memories of Fiona were both a blessing and a curse. Myrtle Snow never wanted to forget about their kiss again, she never wished to miss out on what she believed they had, somewhere deep within, hidden between the two. Yet, whenever the ginger came to remember, it felt like a sharp stinging pain in her chest, as if someone was drawing a dagger into her heart over and over again. The pain was too much for Myrtle to bear – she wished to die and be finally reunited with Fiona again. If not in life, then at least in death.

Taking a few deep breaths, the flame-haired woman forced a smile once she had fixed her hair. With that, she got up from her seat and picked up the red Balenciaga dress that was placed across the mattress of her bed. Feeling the soft fabric for a moment and almost pitying that this beautiful dress was going to burn with her, Myrtle lastly shook her head walked into the bathroom to change. Once the dress was put on and a pair of matching shoes slipped onto her feet, Myrtle Snow was ready.

What was now following was a very long period of waiting – the redheaded woman did not keep track of the remaining time by looking at a clock or a watch, she measured time by the amount of cigarillos she still got to nervously smoke to calm her nerves.

One question, however, never left Myrtle's mind. Was she really not too oblivious to believe that there had been something between herself and Fiona Goode?


	4. Any Last Words? (Part 1)

**/** _ **Another new chapter already, I'm in a writing fever again. This one's a little shorter, but it's only part one. Please feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. Enjoy.**_ **/**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"So I'll begin not to love you_  
 _Turn around, you'll see me runnin'_  
 _I'll say I loved you years ago_  
 _And tell myself you never loved me."_  
\- Stevie Nicks, Silver Springs

* * *

 _Chapter IV_ : **Any Last Words? [Part 1]**

* * *

The sun was still up high in the sky, there was no cloud that would have suggested upcoming rain – there was nothing that could delay the burning of the witch in this isolated area in the outskirts of New Orleans.

It was almost time.

A rather small group of mostly females, accompanied by two men in suits, was approaching the stage where the play was about to take place. All but one of the females were dressed in black, merely one – Myrtle Snow, walking ahead of the group, wore a red Balenciaga dress and a carried a parasol to cover herself from the burning sunlight.

The way the redheaded witch walked – with dignity, sophistication, grace, as if she was walking to her throne or on a Milan fashion week runway rather than right to her own death – it was majestic. Someone watching from the sidelines would have thought that this graceful entity had no difficulties walking up to that stake, yet Myrtle herself knew how troubled she was, how hard it was for her to take each step closer to her doom – ready to yield to her fate. Every step of hers was streaked with remorse and maybe a bit of fear, but most of all, deep down Myrtle knew this was the right and the _only_ way. The only way to escape this madness, this pain.

Black sunglasses covered the flame-haired witch's blue eyes, shielding off any possibility to catch a glimpse of her tears.

Myrtle Snow was, in fact, fighting against her tears.

Her thoughts revolved around the moment when she learned of Fiona Goode's passing – a joy to all, yet a terrifying moment of horror to the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular.

 _'_ _This blood is my mother's.'_

Cordelia's words rang inside Myrtle's head, reappeared again and again and had even haunted her dreams - had turned her dreams into horrific, unbearable nightmares. Over and over, the news of the Supreme's death replayed in her head, and the feeling of utter emptiness returned every time that Myrtle had the feeling she was doing at least a tad better. Every single time, she was thrown even deeper into the abyss of mourning.

Never in this world had Myrtle ever thought she could feel the way she did. Eventually, her suffering would come to an end. Only minutes from now, she would stand up on that handcrafted hill and the flames would enclose around her body and release her, once and for all.

The overall atmosphere was one of sadness – it seemed none of the present witches was keen on watching their mentor, their _friend_ die such a scaring death. Wasn't it one of the most terrible deaths, to be burnt alive? But did it matter in the end? After all, whoever burnt would die and nothingness would surround them. They would not feel a thing anymore, they would not remember the tremendous pain they had gone through just minutes before.

Myrtle Snow was no exception. The pain alone would be too much to cope with – she knew how it felt already, after all, and maybe that was one of the reasons it scared her just a little? Then again, every physical pain in the world was more bearable than Myrtle having lost the one woman whom she has had feelings for, for more than the past four decades.

The one woman who had meant more to her than anyone could ever possibly understand.

How would anyone understand? Myrtle had deep feelings for a woman who had bullied her, dragged her down, took away every pride she ever had, humiliated her again and again. Yet, there was something – something inexplicable lingering between her and Fiona – and Myrtle knew that Fiona felt the same. In a twisted manner, there was an interest in one another, some kind of mutual attraction, an eagerness to always be around the other and prove to each other who was _truly_ superior; and there was profound _love_ between them. Or had been, before Fiona was murdered by her lover boy, the infamous Axeman.

Their relationship had been _twisted_. Twisted, hurtful, and confusing.

At least it was what Myrtle Snow believed to be the truth about her decades-long relationship of mutual hatred with the former Supreme.

Banning the thoughts from her mind for just a brief moment, the redheaded woman felt herself being pressed against the stake, her wrists being tied together behind the trunk and the rope wrapping around her waist and hips several times. Closing her eyes, the flame-haired witch allowed one of the men in suits to spill a canister of methylated spirits over her frame, soaking her fluffy hair in the liquid – the locks soon flattening – and the fabric of her dress sticking to her curves. The smell burnt in Myrtle's nose.

Just a few moments of suffering to survive were left.

Myrtle Snow had opened her eyes again, looking through her sunglasses at the group of young witches in front of the stake, staring up at her. Right in the front there was Cordelia, a look of horror in her face.

"In the absence of the Council, as reigning Supreme of this coven-" Cordelia's voice was bold, determined, more so than usual – Myrtle knew this poor witch did her best to mask her pain and her reluctance to do this. Oh no, Fiona's daughter could not betray Myrtle Snow.

"I hereby decree, for the murders of our sister witch Cecily Pembroke and our colleague Quentin Fleming - you, Myrtle Snow, are hereby sentenced to death by fire."

That was it. The sentence was spoken, she had just been rightfully convicted for her devious deed. Myrtle, however, was not willing to leave the world without making a reassuring comment, perhaps help the new Supreme to keep her head held high.

"Delia … my sweet daughter", the redhead began, her voice echoing through the air with its sound as sweet as it had never been before. It sounded soothing. Yes, Myrtle wanted to make this as easy as possible for Cordelia, although deep down she was fully aware that it was impossible. This woman had just sentenced her mother, even if non-biological, to death. How could that ever be easy?

"I've never been more proud", Myrtle continued sweetly. Maybe this was also an attempt at soothing herself? Convincing herself that this was easier than it seemed, that it was going to be over sooner rather than later, and that eventually, her death was _truly_ for the greater good, next to her purely egotistical intentions?

Breathing heavily, Cordelia was still staring up at the former headmistress of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. It seemed she tried to calm her own nerves and not let Myrtle's words get to her. The Supreme was scared she might break down at this very moment, and fail – again.

Instead, Cordelia took one last deep breath. There was a moment of silence lingering among the attendees of the event. A brief pause for everyone to inhale and exhale once more, to process what exactly was going on at this point, in the deserted outskirts of New Orleans.

Cordelia Goode was anything but weak, Myrtle knew that now – she had always known, but the current situation proved it to her yet again. There was no single doubt within Myrtle's thoughts – she had never been more proud of her sweet, little Delia. The sound of the reigning Supreme's voice was cold, icy, all of a sudden. The warmth, the hurt and the fear, they seemed to have disappeared as she spoke her further words rather boldly again.

"Any last words?"

Another brief moment of silence occurred before Myrtle parted her lips lightly to speak.

" _Myrt …_ "


	5. Any Last Words? (Part 2)

**/** _ **And the next chapter is ready - part two, after that tiny cliffhanger. It's getting a little AU now, but please enjoy, and as always, feel free to leave (constructive) feedback.**_ **/**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"You could be my silver spring_  
 _Blue-green colors flashin'_  
 _I would be your only dream_  
 _Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin'."_  
 _-_ Stevie Nicks, Silver Springs

* * *

 _Chapter V:_ **Any Last Words? [Part 2]**

* * *

"Any last words?"

" _Myrt …_ "

It seemed that for a moment, time had stopped passing, that the hands of every clock in this world had halted, frozen in their position.

Myrtle Snow was the only one who could see the strange figure that had approached the group of witches from behind, slowly and maybe even a little forced, as if walking became more and more difficult with each step taken. Yet, with the interfering person's voice echoing faintly through the air, Queenie and Zoe as well as the Supreme turned their heads to face the unwelcome intruder.

From a farther distance, it could have been difficult to make out who this approaching silhouette was, considering their usual grace and elegance now seemed replaced with a light struggle to remain in her current posture – God knows why that was – yet Myrtle Snow was fully aware who the intruder was, and her heart had skipped a beat the second she had heard her name spoken from this woman's rough voice, the second she laid eyes upon that unexpected visitor.

As if she was frozen, Myrtle did not move a muscle, merely her eyes were focused on the woman in black who slowly walked in between the young witches with the assistance of a cane (which made the impression of a fashionable accessory rather than a necessity), passing Cordelia and giving her a warning look.

" _Fiona?_ "

"Cordelia, darling. I had sincerely hoped you'd be happier to see me alive." A smug, well-known smirk crossed the intruder's lips. "Don't you want to give your mother a welcoming hug?" A sarcastic chuckle followed the smirk and Fiona Goode, wearing one of her form-hugging black dresses combined with a pair of expensive heels, no matter the occasion, and a headscarf hiding her thinning hair, lifted her chin arrogantly.

"Not really."

"As I assumed", commented Fiona and shrugged it off carelessly. She tilted her head slightly, not yet paying any attention to the woman tied to the stake. Her full attention at this point was on her daughter. A triumphant smile embellished Fiona's lips for a brief moment. "Oh, I truly _am_ a powerful witch", she said, "I tricked the new Supreme. Your most profound power betrayed you, thanks to my ingenious ways."

"Fiona, I really don't know _why_ or _what_ exactly you're on about, but we still have a goddamn business to-"

"Shut up, Delia. You have _no_ say in _this_." Fiona Goode stood before her daughter like a queen would stand before her lower folk. A graceful, beautiful queen. "You see, you seem to forget that I am not dead", continued the older blonde with a light-hearted yet expressive half smirk, "That means you are not the Supreme, but _I am_. And that means, and I'm assuming you are not too dumb to know what I am talking about, Cordelia, your decreed sentence for Myrtle is _invalid_."

There was an expression of confusion plastered across Cordelia's face, but it seemed a hint of gratefulness – yes, gratefulness – mixed to that gradually. Indeed, the headmistress of the academy was grateful for her mother's unexpected resurrection from the dead because the burden of having to burn Myrtle Snow at the stake was now taken off of her shoulders. Of course, Cordelia was convinced that her mother was simply going to sentence Myrtle to death by fire _again_ and do it herself, as the reigning Supreme of the coven.

"Fine. Then please, _mother_ , feel free to pronounce another death sentence for Myrtle and do it yourself – that's what you want, right? To undermine your daughter yet again and have the last word, as always. _Please_ , be my guest." It was obvious that Cordelia was displeased by Fiona's presence, their unhealthy relationship once again being what the younger Goode witch saw as an explanation for all of this.

In the meantime, standing motionlessly and quietly at the stake was Myrtle Snow herself, the subject of the other witches' conversation. Her eyes lingered on Fiona – it seemed all the heartbreak was gone within seconds, as if it never had been there to begin with. What was there, however, was confusion. Also Myrtle was confused, shocked and surprised, but most importantly, there was happiness. Unless Fiona would flick her fingers in a moment and set her on fire, of course.

"You have learnt nothing, darling. Try and stop explaining each of my actions with your hatred for me, will you?" With that, the blonde eventually turned her gaze toward the stake, her eyes meeting those of Myrtle's, even though both pairs of eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses. Myrtle Snow knew that Fiona was looking her right in the eye.

"Gentlemen", the _real_ Supreme addressed the two men in suits, "Untie Myrtle from that thing, please, no one's gonna burn today."

This came as a surprise to Cordelia, who now gazed over at Zoe and Queenie. They, too, looked more than surprised.

Then there was Myrtle, who felt as if a heavy weight was being taken from pushing down onto her chest. No one was going to burn that day? The second one of the suited men undid the ropes that clung tightly to her body, once she was free to move again (aside from the smelly liquid covering her), the redheaded witch could not fight a faint smile from appearing on her dry lips – Fiona had come to this place to save Myrtle – that was it, or was it? It must have been, otherwise the Supreme would have never made the effort to find them on time. She would have never asked for Myrtle to be untied from the stake again.

Slowly, the flame-haired woman began striding down the small hill of rocks, only to overhear some more of mother and daughter's little chat.

"This doesn't make sense – where the hell have you been?"

"Stop with your silly questions, I'll explain later – or how about you use your _real_ vision for a change, darling?"

"For God's sake, Fiona, what is going on? Mind explaining it to me _right now_?" Fiona ignored her daughter's words purposely, merely waving her hand in her direction as a sign for her to stop talking. Rolling her eyes then, Cordelia folded her arms in front of her chest.

"Myrtle – wouldn't it have been a shame for you to be burnt illegitimately? Even _I_ consider that beneath those minute remnants of dignity you still have somewhere underneath that unflattering haircut of yours." Fiona smirked deviously at the redhead once she was stood in front of the Supreme – with that undying urge to pull her into an embrace, yet, as Fiona had just said herself, Myrtle still had dignity.

"Always ready for a flattering compliment, aren't we, Fiona?" Myrtle's comment was spoken just as deviously, almost as if there never had been anything between them – as if their kiss had never happened, as if Fiona had not just saved Myrtle Snow's life.

A chuckle slipped from the Supreme's lips.

"I'll speak to you later, Myrt. Oh, and take a shower, you stink of gasoline." With that, the blonde woman with her walking stick turned on her heels and elegantly strode past Queenie and Zoe, who both had been observing the scene closely. For some reason, Myrtle thought to herself, Fiona's movements did not seem to be as weak as they had been anymore – as if something had given her new energy.

Just moments later, the Supreme had left a group of still rather stunned witches behind – and a more than pleased Myrtle Snow. On the inside, yes, her emotions were running wild, thoughts spinning inside her mind, yet she outwardly appeared calm and pleased.

* * *

At this time of day, the sun was already approaching the edge of the horizon tardily. One still inwardly shaken Myrtle Snow, now showered and made up properly, moved along the hallways of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies as lowly as possible – soon knocking steadily on the door to the Supreme's bedroom.

"Come in."

"Fiona?", Myrtle whispered as she popped her head inside the room, seeing her nemesis relaxing on her bed. She wore a dark satin dressing gown and a glass of red wine was settled on the nightstand beside her bed. Moving further into the room, the flame-haired witch closed the door behind herself and before she could speak or even _think_ any more, she was interrupted by the rough voice belonging to Fiona Goode.

"Come sit", said Fiona rather weakly, patting the space beside her on the edge of the king size bed, suggesting for Myrtle to take a seat close to her.

In all honesty, the redhead was fighting with herself – she wanted to burst into tears, wrap her arms around Fiona carelessly and let her know how glad she was that the Supreme was still alive. On the other hand, she felt like scolding the blonde for doing such a cruel thing to her, making her believe that she had died and then hiding away for so long.

The feelings were stirring within Myrtle.

"I'm glad you're alive, Fiona."

"I'm glad _you_ are alive, redhead." Reaching out to pick up her wine tumbler, Fiona gave the other woman a wry smirk. Somewhere, there seemed to be some warmth hidden behind that smirk.

"Why?", asked said redhead once she had made herself comfortable next to Fiona on the mattress, despite sitting there rather stiffly, a little tensed. Nervous, maybe. Her upper body facing the Supreme, she allowed her blue eyes to scan the woman's facial features carefully through her vintage classes, searching for any possible hint of emotion, anything that could give away what this woman truly felt. Felt for Myrtle. If there was anything to find there in the first place.

"You're asking me why? Haven't you figured it out by yourself yet, darling?"

"Figured out what exactly, Fiona?"

A silence fell between them, the only sound was the now empty wine glass clinking as it was set back onto the nightstand. For a brief moment, Fiona 's gaze lingered on said glass before she locked her orbs with Myrtle's.

"Don't play stupid now, Myrt. You've surely concluded that I don't hate you, haven't you?"


	6. Don't Think It's All About You

**/** _ **After spending the week with my girlfriend, here's a very fluffy chapter. Surely, Fiona and Myrtle need to have a bit of a conversation, too, don't they? Please enjoy, and feel free to leave (constructive) feedback.**_ **/**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"Darkness cannot drive out darkness;_  
 _only light can do that._  
 _Hate cannot drive out hate;_  
 _only love can do that."_  
\- Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

 _Chapter VI_ : **Don't Think It's All About You**

* * *

"You don't hate me?"

Myrtle Snow's question lingered in the air for a few seconds – unanswered. Deep within, she had known the answer to her own question all along. Yes, she had concluded that Fiona Goode did not hate her, and yet, now that she was sat right here with Fiona – all her certainty seemed to crumble. Could it truly be that this woman who had hidden from her for a month and pretended to have died at the hand of her own lover _actually_ felt the same for Myrtle?

It seemed surreal; it appeared to be a low probability.

"For Christ's sake, Myrt, has the gasoline smell burnt your brain cells away? No, I don't hate you. I _really_ thought you had figured that much after I kissed you."

With the roll of her eyes and a sigh of annoyance slipping through her lips, Fiona leaned to the side to pick up a half empty wine bottle from the floor. Pouring another drink, the Supreme, once she bottle was settled on the parquet again, offered the glass to Myrtle.

"And you can't tell me you hate me either because damn, your tongue was quite eager to climb down my throat. Now have a drink and relax, you're stiff as a stick."

Myrtle was rendered speechless. Why, though? Because Fiona was talking about what had happened as if it wasn't anything that should be considered questionable? Or merely because this sounded as though Fiona Goode herself was, in a more or less romantic way, admitting her feelings for Myrtle?

Clearing her throat once, the flame-haired woman took the wine tumbler from the Supreme, her fingers briefly brushing against the other's before lifting the glass to her lips and taking a moderate sip of the dark red liquid.

"Cat got your tongue, Myrt?" A suggestive smirk played on Fiona's lips.

"A little, to be fair", admitted the redheaded witch eventually, her eyes on the blonde. "I'm quite stunned by your _confession_ , dear. But before we talk about _that_ any further, I'd be interested to know why exactly you are still alive – or rather _how_."

Another roll of Fiona's eyes was the answer.

"Well, where do I begin to explain so that you'll understand?" The Supreme rested her head back against the headboard of her bed, exhaling audibly. "You see, Myrt, you were wondering why I've consumed so much more alcohol recently – it was because of _him_. Christ's sake, I enjoyed this whole thing I had with him in the beginning, but you made me realise that he'd never stay until the very end." Now, the woman paused for a minute, Myrtle sitting beside her and waiting patiently for her to continue. "And _I_ realised he wasn't who I _wanted_ to stay until the very end. He began to annoy me, with his silly farmhouse and catfish. Just the thought of living with him like that makes me cringe. So I put a little spell on him to make him and every single one of you believe he had killed me. In the meantime, I jetted off to Paris for a while, enjoyed myself or whatever you want to call it."

"Fiona, are you implying that you were hoping for him to die?"

"No, I was implying that I _counted_ on those little witches to kill him."

"Typical. You let others do the dirty work. But what for?" Furrowing her eyebrows in question, the redhead eventually set the wine glass back onto the nightstand once it was empty. Her mind was filled with questions – she still couldn't quite understand any of this. Why had Fiona wanted to get rid of the Axeman? Why had she gone into hiding for one entire month?

"What for? Use your brain, Myrt. I told you he wasn't the one I wanted to stay until the very end", said the blonde lowly, her brown orbs closing as she relaxed.

"Does that mean there is someone else whom you want to stay until the very end? Oh, that's such a romantic idea, don't you think?"

Not that Myrtle expected a satisfying response to her question, yet there was a small hint of hope lingering within her heart for now – while awaiting Fiona's next words, partly expecting a sarcastic remark about the redhead's hopeless sense of romance.

This moment of waiting seemed to last for an eternity. Fiona took her time to ponder, shape useful sentences in her mind that her tongue would be able to perform. In the end, the blonde opened her orbs and raised her head just lightly to give her nemesis a suggestive look.

"Our kiss made me realise that who I want to stay until the very end is the one who has been there from day one."

"Are you saying-"

"You, Myrtle. I've never seen it until I kissed you. I was convinced men gave me what I wanted and _needed_ without realising I had it right in front of me all my life. Holy shit, I probably sound deluded right now, don't I? Must be the meds."

Yet again, Myrtle was speechless.

"What? Do you want to sit there and stare at me like a retard all evening?"

"Fiona …"

"Would you stop gaping at my mouth and kiss me?"

Myrtle did not need to hear this request more than once – without hesitation, the redheaded witch, her heart racing twice as fast as usual, shifted a little closer next to Fiona's upper body as she rested her palms on either side of the blonde's head. She leaned forward slowly but gradually, watching how her face approached the Supreme's before her blue eyes went shut and she gently pressed her lips upon Fiona's.

The Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular could not help but lose herself in the taste of Fiona's plump lips, oh so sweet but bitter from the wine at the same time. She sensed a slender hand moving around her nape and resting in the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer into the kiss.

This time it was Myrtle whose lips were soon penetrated by the other woman's tongue, their kiss growing more passionate with each second passing, with each gentle lap of her own tongue against Fiona's – her body unintentionally leaning closer into the Supreme, pressing her chest up against the other's lightly. One of the redhead's hands carefully slipped underneath Fiona's back at her waist, her free hand tenderly cupping the blonde's cheek.

The kiss went on for another moment, Fiona seemingly urging the redhead closer, forcing their bodies to press tightly against one another whilst she intensified the kiss more and more, like she was a lioness hungrily working on her prey.

Myrtle Snow, however, interrupted Fiona's rather unbridled demeanour as she brought a bit of space between their mouths again. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the Supreme, rather breathless, her fingers still holding on to the woman's cheek as she began to caress her soft skin swiftly.

There was a hint of salty fluids in her orbs.

"Fiona – why did you have to make me believe you were dead?"

Silence. How Myrtle despised these moments of silence between the two witches, this tension, the irritating period of waiting. It made her nervous – whenever Fiona Goode did not have a snappy comment ready right away, something surely bugged her, something made her ponder, or maybe she was planning how to dispose of Myrtle's body.

"Fiona?" Myrtle's voice was low, almost comfortingly sweet.

"I needed time", said the Supreme in the end, her expression once again appearing colder than it was supposed to, her voice sounding rougher and more emotionless than what the blonde had meant to express with her words.

"Time?"

"Time to think, consider things, make sure what I felt was … real. I had to get away. Maybe I would have never returned, tried to forget about it, convince myself this wasn't allowed to be. And just spend the remainders of my days in Paris – my plan was amazing."

The Supreme swallowed the lump in her throat away – Myrtle, on the other hand, was feeling just that growing inside, restricting her from speaking her mind as straightforwardly as she usually did. Only Fiona Goode could ever have such effect on the flame-haired witch, make her shut up this easily, and make her weak to her knees.

"But you _have_ returned." With that, Myrtle retracted from the other, sitting upright and eyeing her from a slightly further distance – her fingers moving away from the blonde's cheek right afterwards. There was no doubt, the redhead was willed to hear a plausible explanation. She wanted the truth.

"Because I heard what was going to happen to you, Myrt." Fiona rolled her eyes now. "I thought you were stronger, darling. I didn't think you'd want to burn at the stake simply because I was dead."

"I wanted to burn because I have committed unspeakable crimes, Fiona, don't think it's all about you."

"Oh, but it is", said the Supreme and an amused chuckle escaped her dry lips which interrupted her speech for a moment, "You should have thought this through. I know you couldn't wait to get off the stake again once you saw me. Otherwise you would have _insisted_ to burn, no matter what. I know you, Myrtle Snow."

Once again, Fiona Goode managed oh so easily to weaken Myrtle and make her feel humiliated. Her lack of persistence earlier that day was what had betrayed her. Without even noticing, the redhead had given the Supreme the satisfaction, given her exactly what she wanted – as always, the worst Supreme the coven had ever had got her way in the end.

Myrtle looked away from Fiona for just a moment, but then another thought came to her mind. Turning to face the blonde one more time, the ginger now gave a rather sarcastic smile in return.

"Fiona, dear, you should have thought this through yourself. You simply could not _stand_ the idea of losing me, that's why you've returned. You couldn't bear the thought that I was going to burn to death, this time for real. You realised you could never live without me – don't deny it. I know you, Fiona Goode."

That was it, or wasn't it?

Feeling accomplished to have come to this conclusion, Myrtle Snow smiled triumphantly at the Supreme, watching closely how the other woman's facial features shifted. Fiona pursed her lips slightly before her chocolate brown eyes went shut.

"Knowing you were going to die made me realise that those feelings I've been battling for months were real." Fiona gulped once. Her lids soon opened again, her eyes obviously wet from appearing tears. "I'm tired of fighting, Myrt. I'm dying, and I don't want to spend those few weeks I have left feeling like shit. I didn't want to give up on my only chance of … _happiness_."

"Your only chance of happiness?" Myrtle was taken aback, she was surprised – oh, she could not hide her thoroughly stunned yet gratified emotions any longer, her expression giving away what she felt. "You're saying I am your only chance of happiness, Fiona?"

"For Christ's sake, _yes_. Whatever this is between us, it's not hate, and it's been going on for a while now, maybe even longer than I want to admit, and you know it. You feel the same. Myrt, I've come to realise that I want _you_ to be there until I finally bite the dust, and I should've realised earlier that you _wanted_ to be there all this time – when you said no man would ever stay until the very end. I should have seen the truth – that you wouldn't leave, that with you, I'm not going to die alone."

In the meantime, Myrtle had lifted her hand back to the Supreme's cheek carefully, tenderly wiping her thumb underneath the blonde's eye to rid of those few tears that dared to escape Fiona's orbs.

"The meds have _really_ made you sentimental, Fiona."

The blonde only responded with a crooked smile and another, slightly exaggerated roll of her brown eyes before gazing directly into the blue of the redhead's orbs.

"Will you stay with me, Myrt?"

"You know my answer, dear."


	7. Just Keep Your Mouth Shut

**_/ This really took me ages and I am so sorry. Hope you'll enjoy it, anyway. Please feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. /_**

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"The supreme art of war  
is to subdue the enemy  
without fighting."  
_\- Sun Tzu

* * *

 _Chapiter VII_ : **Just Keep Your Mouth Shut**

* * *

"Myrtle, would you finally talk to me? Fiona doesn't speak a word to me about what happened, which I didn't expect any differently, but you? Aren't you usually so eager to define and pinpoint everything, despite all the metaphors you always use to confuse me? Now you're not even using met-"

"Delia."

The fireheaded fashionista turned her body to shoot her non-biological daughter a more or less unimpressed look. Two days ago, Myrtle Snow had been sentenced to burn to death at the stake before the real Supreme, Fiona Goode, saved her from her unfortunate fate. Followed by the scene visible to the public witch eye, another more private and more confusing scene had followed in the bedroom of Fiona's.

Uncertain whether the conversation the redhead's had with the Supreme had eventually taken an unexpected or expected turn, Myrtle was, all in all, satisfied with the occurrence. However, neither Fiona nor the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular dared to speak a word to anyone involved - mainly Cordelia, their daughter.

Their daughter?

The immediate thought caused for Myrtle to uphold her thin eyebrows for a brief moment before shaking her head and it off of her mind - for the time being, at least. Most definitely, it was an idea that deserved to be taken care of later on.

"Myrtle, please - you both act like you're keeping a state secret from me."

Cordelia's dark brown eyes, matching those of Fiona's, exuded what could be identified as either confusion or rather a mix of uncertainty and aggravation about the situation. The whole secrecy affair between her mother and Myrtle was slowly driving her wild - something was definitely going on.

For a moment there, the headmistress of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies considered using her ability of second sight - she would, if Myrtle did not spill the truth within the following five minutes.

"With all that's happened in the past few weeks, I'm merely a little thoughtful - as for Fiona, I wouldn't know what's bothering her, my dear."

The redhead had concern in her eyes, concern that was covered by her huge vintage glasses. After remaining still for a split second, Myrtle turned back to the kitchen counter in order to put a pair of freshly cleaned mugs and plates back into the cupboard above the sink.

Two mugs and two plates?

A deep frown found its way onto Cordelia's forehead, pupils scanning the older witch's exterior closely. From her gloved hands along her arms, over her fluffy-haired head, down her petite frame that was, as per usual, wrapped into high quality fabrics swirling voluptuously around her curves. Cordelia tilted her head to the side, a question mark written across her pale face. Was Myrtle's behaviour different? Aside from her exceptional silence - it appeared to be the woman's aura that gave away an alteration in things, that betrayed her usually so reserved self.

"Are you sure, Myrtle?"

"Naturally, dear." The older witch's voice was determined, and her expression seemed to speak the truth once she had turned to face Cordelia again. The blue of her eyes shone brightly, a gentle smile on her lips - the headmistress was convinced that there was something off, whatever exactly it was.

"If you say so."

It was that very moment that Cordelia had enough. Her curiosity and aggravation got the better of her as she stepped forward, lifting her right arm and resting her fingers firmly atop the redhead's shoulder. Almost immediately, the witch's vision became blurry and her hues shut off their ability to see in order to display Myrtle Snow's past in front of her inner eye.

Cordelia could see the former head of the Council enter Fiona's room. The scene skipped to Myrtle sitting on the edge of the Supreme's bed, the two witches talking about all the confusing and terrifying things that had occurred, and all of a sudden, Myrtle bent over. What Cordelia saw next shocked her even more than the fact that her mother was still alive. The Supreme and the Guardian of Truth shared a moment of utmost affection and immense passion - a kiss. Both participants looked less surprised or taken aback than Delia would have expected, especially whilst she herself was greatly taken aback.

Moments later, the blonde witch broke from her vision, retracted her hand from Myrtle and she stared at the older woman with utter surprise, shock, confusion, and somewhat dismay written clearly into her dark brown eyes.

"Since when has this been going on, Myrtle?"

The woman who had just been addressed stood there still, a hint of anger visible in that fold between her eyebrows. After all, Myrtle Snow had every right to be angered by Cordelia's unwanted action - but then again, the day of revelation had to come, sooner rather than later. A heavy sigh slipped through Myrtle's thin lips, and she lowered her eyes in an almost defeated fashion.

"A few weeks before Fiona's ... passing, I discovered her inebriated into oblivion on the chaise longue in the Ancestry room. We argued - you know what she's like - and then, well, she kissed me, and-"

"Is that why you wanted to burn at the stake?"

"Oh no, Delia dear, she's not that bad of a kisser."

Myrtle knew exactly what her successor to the position of the academy's headmistress was actually on about. However, as stubborn as the flame-haired woman was, she was unwilling to admit just that. To admit the truth about how intense and almost embarrassing her feelings for Fiona Goode really were - for a woman who had treated her like a piece of scum for the most of their lives.

The suggestively lifted eyebrow of Cordelia's told the older witch exactly what she was thinking, and how she was judging Myrtle's previous response.

"Fine, you've won. The real reason why I wished to die was, in fact, Fiona. I am aware that this is something utterly confusing to you, my dearest child, but her apparent death had her lifelong nemesis - me - in a state of utmost horror and pain that I felt like drowning in a never-ending vortex of sorrow."

There suddenly was a silence falling between the two women. Myrtle Snow felt her own cheeks flush and turn a soft pink tone.

Cordelia, at this point, couldn't quite comprehend the situation - she understood every word that the flame-haired witch had spoken, but her brain did not seem to grasp the meaning like it was supposed to. If that was because she was so shocked about what she had seen and what Myrtle had just explained to her, or whether it was because to her, this utterly unusual bond between her mother and Myrtle appeared to make no sense at all - she was unsure.

"Are you saying that you have feelings for Fiona?" The headmistress of the academy questioned Myrtle with an underlying suspicion, almost as if she was convinced that something about the situation was not quite right and could not be the truth - perhaps the vision she had seen was merely a trick? Impossible. And her suspicion seemed to be muzzled once the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular responded to her question.

"I do. Now if you'd excuse me, little bird, I have other businesses to-"

"Cordelia?"

Both witches, the one who had just been addressed by a new voice in the room as well as the redheaded fashionista instantaneously turned their heads in the direction of where the voice had come from.

"Zoe," the blonde woman began, putting on a smile that hopefully covered her confusion and unwillingness to be broken away from this crucial conversation with one Myrtle Snow. "What can I do for you?"

"There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you - and Queenie." The young girl appeared a little nervous, probably realising that she had intruded in a more or less serious and most importantly private talk between the two older witches. "About the Council." With those last three words, Zoe's eyes locked on the redhead - knowing that she might not be too keen on giving up so easily what had been hers for so many years. Then again, Myrtle Snow had lost her position as the head of the Witches' Council the first time she was convicted to burn to death.

Myrtle Snow, despite being expected to speak up once Zoe mentioned the Council, remained quiet, merely lifting an eyebrow at the girl. Yet, this simple gesture caused for Zoe to swallow, a hint of nervousness sneaking into her mind.

"It ... it can wait. I'll just come back later, if you wish, Cordelia."

"No," responded the headmistress dryly, almost sharply, before looking back to Myrtle, leaning in close in order to whisper to her.

"We're not done here. Just keep your public affection to a minimum for now, if you will?"

"I wouldn't know why that should be a necessity, Delia," protested the flame-haired woman aloud as she lifted her chin, folding her arms before her chest dramatically, "And if it were to cause terror for every soul involved, they'd get over-"

"Myrtle. Just keep your mouth shut about it."

With that, Cordelia turned away from her mentor, from her substitute mother and friend, her full attention now drawn to Zoe Benson, who had been watching their confusing and secretive disagreement with wide eyes. Moments later, Myrtle Snow was on her own in the kitchen again.

A sigh that she had kept repressed all the while speaking with Cordelia eventually slipped through Myrtle's lips as she turned back to the sink. Her blue eyes staring right into the sink, yet more into empty space, after all. Now it was her turn to be confused - why would her beloved Cordelia's reaction be this ... negative? Why would she not be happy that Myrtle was alive and happy? Suddenly, a rather specific thought came to the mind of the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular. What if Cordelia was very plainly not accepting of the idea of having two enemies that had despised one another and fought for more than forty years of their lives forming a bond this different, new, and unexpected? Another question remained unanswered, however - why?


	8. Enlighten Me, Little Bird

_**/ I thought this story was going to have only eight chapters in total, but there's going to be one more. Please enjoy this one, and feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. /**_

* * *

 **Burn, Witch, Burn**

 _"There is no love  
_ _without forgiveness,  
_ _and there is no forgiveness  
_ _without love."  
_ \- Bryant H. McGill

* * *

 _Chapter VIII_ : **Enlighten Me, Little Bird**

* * *

"I'm going completely bald - how in the hell could I allow this to happen? I'm rotting away like a stinking, stranded whale. Just look at me - no man with eyeballs in his skull would even dare to look at me like this. And I'll be glued to a goddamn bed bathing in piss in no time."

An exaggerated sigh echoed from inside the adjacent bathroom.

"At least I'm honest, not sugarcoating anything - you know exactly how it'll go. And in a few weeks I'll be dead."

Another sigh, even more exaggerated than the first one, came from the smaller room, and only a moment later, Myrtle Snow stepped into the larger bedroom where the complaints about health conditions had been coming from. Reproach was written across the redhead's features as she stepped behind the Supreme, ungloved fingers carefully brushing through a bunch of blonde hair. Then, the same hand trailed to rest upon the dying woman's shoulder.

"You're beautiful, Fiona. With or without hair, glued to a bed or not," Myrtle spoke almost soothingly, yet there was a certain hint of determination in her voice. "Furthermore, I don't care if men won't look at you anymore." With a tilt of her head to the right side, Myrtle inspected the other witch closely, her eyes intently scanning her every facial detail. And for a moment there, the flame-haired woman was convinced to have seen a faint smile daring to overtake Fiona Goode's miserable state of misery.

"I will continue to look at you," Myrtle then added after no response came from the unusually self-conscious Supreme, "Because to me, you will always be as beautiful as a fair flower kissed by the mesmerising sun. Like the latest Balenciaga runway look for the spring collection. Beautiful like-"

"Myrtle."

Myrtle was instantaneously silenced by her name spoken by the rough voice that belonged to Fiona Goode.

"Shut up."

The Supreme rolled her eyes far back as she stared at the less powerful (if that still actually applied) witch through the mirror before she proceeded to paint her eyelashes with expensive mascara. It was now the redhead's turn to remain quiet, watching Fiona apply her makeup in what could be compared to a trance. Then, the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular grew another smile and she lifted the bunch of blonde hair that she had kept in her hands.

"Hold still," said Myrtle sharply and she carefully placed the high-quality wig atop Fiona's nearly hairless head. Using her fingers to adjust the wig and settle the strands comfortably around the Supreme's prominent features, Myrtle found herself staring and smiling at the reflection in the mirror.

"Let me finish," Fiona ordered and with a simple nod, Myrtle retracted from touching the Supreme's new hair and her skin. "And stop smiling like a retard."

"I beg your pardon, Fiona?"

"You've heard me."

* * *

After a successful evening out, the doors of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies eventually reopened, two women stepping inside more or less quietly. Fiona Goode was holding on to Myrtle's arm for support along with carrying her cane on the other side. It was obvious that the reigning Supreme was inebriated, and surprisingly, even the fiery redhead appeared slightly tipsy that night.

As quietly as possible, Myrtle made an attempt to lead her lifelong nemesis towards the staircase of the building, however, the blonde had other plans. She freed herself from Myrtle with a little force and shot the woman a rather annoyed glance.

From the former head of the Council came a rolling of eyes as a response. Following the Supreme through into the Ancestry room, she shook her head when she saw the drunk woman stumble over to the liquor cabinet. Once again. Yet, Myrtle decided not to interrupt Fiona - instead, she leaned against the doorframe, her eyes on the woman that she had almost died for.

Myrtle Snow, what had been wrong with her? Wanting to die, burn to death, because somebody supposedly wasn't part of her life any longer? What had got into her that she truthfully had feelings for someone like Fiona Goode?

The redhead sighed, and her eyelids were about to close, rest for just a moment, when she heard a thud and glass shattering. Instantaneously widening her eyes again, Myrtle gasped in shock at the sight of the Supreme on the floor.

"Fiona!"

Rushing over to the woman on the parquet, Myrtle knelt beside her, hands moving to take hold of Fiona, hold her tightly.

"Fiona? Fiona, are you okay?" There was immediate fear striking Myrtle - that very same stinging feeling hitting her chest like it had when Cordelia had first revealed whose blood the Axeman was covered in before the witches killed him.

'This blood is my mother's.'

The feeling stung. It hurt. It pained Myrtle more than what she would have liked - but what could she do? There was a chance that the woman she loved was about to pass away, actually pass away. Perhaps she was exaggerating, maybe her fears were irrational. Oh, what did Fiona do to her? Myrtle Snow had been an expert at keeping her composure for the most of her life, even with Fiona around usually, but all of a sudden, irrational feelings seemed to have taken up a great space within her mind.

"Are you deaf, Myrt? Would you help me up now?"

Blinking a few times, Myrtle noticed that the Supreme had regained consciousness, and she only nodded rapidly. Was she so lost in thought? Internally shaking her head at herself, Myrtle Snow moved to help Fiona back to her feet and over to the chaise longue. Carefully, she lifted the Supreme's legs up after removing her shoes, assisting her to lie down properly. To relax, regain the energy that she would need to walk up the stairs without tumbling.

"What happened?"

"I must have fainted," Fiona said lowly, "Shit, am I really too weak to get myself a drink on my own now? Let go of me. Get me a drink, goddammit, I need to numb the pain."

Myrtle swallowed back a bunch of tears that attempted to fall from her eyelids. Was she so close to tears simply because Fiona had fainted? Was she so close to tears because she was frightened of what was going to happen to Fiona sooner or later? Was she so close to tears because Fiona was still treating her like she wasn't worth shit?

"Fiona, I really don't think this is a good-"

"What's going on here?"

The flame-haired witch was silenced, but it had not been Fiona's voice to do so. It was Cordelia. Turning her head to look at the entrance to the Ancestry room, Myrtle spotted the headmistress standing in the doorway with arms crossed, eyeing the two women sternly.

"Delia, my little bird, we just got back home, and Fiona-"

"I don't care, Myrtle."

Once more, Myrtle was silenced by the likes of Cordelia Goode. The youngest of the three witches stepped further into the room, getting a better view of the broken glass and whiskey on the floor as well as her mother and the Guardian of Truth.

"I don't care where you've been and I don't care how drunk both of you have got, but I do care that you make noise like a bomb's struck the house and wake up all of my students for nothing. Myrtle, I expected a little more respect of you. Now, be quiet, for heaven's sake, I'm going back to sleep."

Cordelia turned away from the women again, approaching the door to leave the room and go back into her bedroom. For a moment there, the Ancestry room was drowning in silence, unbearable silence, but then, Myrtle stepped away from the chaise longue, catching a glimpse of Fiona rolling her reddened eyes at her daughter's outburst. Then, the redhead forcefully rested her hands upon her hips.

"What is your godforsaken problem, Cordelia?"

"You're making too much noise."

The older witch was tipsy, enough to fall out of her usual role of being well-composed, calm, considerate.

"Stop making excuses, Delia. Tell me what your _real_ problem is."

The blonde headmistress did not seem to listen. She continued to walk without showing any reaction towards Myrtle's words.

"Just let her go, Myrt - she doesn't know shit." Fiona's voice was low, dry, and hard to understand. But Myrtle did not listen. Shaking her head at the Supreme, and before either of the witches could speak another word, the redhead gazed at Cordelia's back and merely a split second later, she stopped walking, turned around, faced Myrtle, stared her straight in the eye and walked back into the room, coming to stand a few feet from the redhead.

"Myrtle," Cordelia eventually said, "Let me go."

"No, Delia. I want to hear the truth. _Right now_."

"My, my, Myrt's finally learning how to be a proper witch bitch," Fiona's voice echoed shallowly through the air.

"You want the truth? Do you _really_ not have the slightest clue?"

"Enlighten me, little bird."

"Can you imagine how this feels? Myrtle, you burnt at the stake once, nearly twice, and _I_ was the one to sentence you the second time, and there was nothing in this world I would have hated to do more than that. Then suddenly, my bitch of a mother thinks it's necessary to come back right then when I was already so close to a mental breakdown because I could hardly bear to lose the one person who has been there for me my entire life."

Myrtle's lips were parted lightly, almost as if she was planning to speak, but no words came out.

"Then I find out that you and my mother apparently have a thing going on."

"Delia, is it because we're two women? Because there's nothing to-"

"No, Myrtle. I don't care if you're straight or gay or whatever label there is, but I care that two women who both had the greatest influence on me throughout the years, both negative and positive, who had been at war with one another since forever, suddenly decide to bond and fall in love with each other. You _hate_ Fiona, Myrtle. You were my greatest supporter all my life, and now you've sided with the one who's ruined me? Who's ruined us both? Who's ruined this coven?"

Slowly, the redheaded woman began to understand. Wordless, Myrtle lowered her head lightly, her expression now one of concern. For a moment, she pondered Cordelia's previous words. Fiona, in the meantime, seemed to be fighting with a headache rather than listening to the two women talk, and she had ripped off the blonde wig from her head, holding it clenched tightly between her fingers as it dangled beside the chaise longue.

"You're right, Fiona has been a terrible Supreme, she's been a terrible mother to you and she's been a bitch to me all my life, but none of this can change that ... that there's something between us."

"You both are driving me insane. You're unbelievable, both of you. And I'm disappointed in you, Myrtle. _You_ were my mother, not Fiona, and now it feels like everything comes crumbling down on me," Delia explained, teeth clenched a little too much. "Forty years and all my life, I've seen you two fight each other. I expected a lot of bullshit from Fiona, but not from you. I feel ... betrayed."

"You should be happy for us, Delia. I'm sorry for the incident with my second death sentence, but you need to be stronger than that. Besides, the coven is safe, we're at peace, and your mother has somebody to take care of her for the last weeks of her life."

"You're just as heartless as me, Delia," the Supreme slurred.

" _Heartless_?" Cordelia had raised her voice into what was close to shouting. "You dare to call _me_ heartless, Fiona? _You_ have no soul. You killed Anna Leigh Leighton and Madison, and you possibly killed Nan as well. All you ever cared about was yourself! And Myrtle, I _really_ wish I could understand you, but I can't and won't. I thought you had been there for me, and now you do this to me."

"I'm not doing anything to you, Delia. I understand that you're angry, but I don't care any less about you because of this. Yes, I do have feelings for Fiona, and trust me, I've hated myself for feeling this way for so long, but people can ch-"

"What? What do you mean, _for so long_? How long?"

"Ever since ... we were students here together. Do you think I _wanted_ to feel this? Do you think I _wanted_ to have feelings for somebody who treated me like Fiona has? Things had changed when she kissed me. When I realised that she felt the same. When I realised that in this very twisted sense, she had always been there to fuel my passion, to keep me going. That I _needed_ her."

Now it was the headmistress to part her lips and close them again right away, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Fiona had sat upright, and she seemed to have listened as closely as she could to the redhead's words.

"Cordelia ... Myrt hasn't done anything wrong. Don't you realise? Goddamn, I thought you had at least a bit of brains in that head of yours. Despite her feelings for me, she's always been on your side. She's always supported you, and she still does - it was _me_ who wooed her. I kissed her. I confused her. Don't be angry with Myrtle, be angry with me instead, like you always are, Delia dear." The Supreme did not notice the look that the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular was giving her. A look of - surprise? But Fiona was too busy focusing only on her daughter, and not letting her headache take over. "And if you please, even if you hate me, allow your mother to die in peace, do me that favour. You owe me one for giving birth to you."

There was a long silence. None of the three witches dared to speak first, especially because none of them seemed to be certain about what to say. What the right thing would be to say. If there was anything. It took a whole minute at least until one woman spoke up.

It was Cordelia.

"It'll take me a while," the witch with the gift of second sight began, her tone dramatically changed from fury to what sounded like understanding, "To get used to this. Just don't come to me asking to be burnt at the stake _ever_ again, Myrtle."


End file.
